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the senses and caused Purloch to cry out and fall to his knees, his arm across his face to shield it from the tumult.
    As quickly as it had begun, it was over. Purloch lowered his arm, and his breath caught in his throat.
    The child was cloaked in ravens. They buried her, perching on her shoulders and arms: a mantle of dark feathers. They surrounded her, too, a thick carpet of the creatures. Dozens more perched in the branches nearby. Now and then one of them stirred, preening under a wing or shuffling position; but all of them watched him with their dreadful black, beady eyes.
    Purloch was dumbstruck with terror.
    ‘What did you want to take?’ Lucia asked softly. Her expression and tone reflected none of the malevolence the ravens projected.
    Purloch swallowed. He was aware of nothing more than the ravens. The birds were protecting her. And he knew, with a fearful certainly, that they would tear him to bloody rags at a thought from the child.
    He tried to speak, but nothing came out. He swallowed and tried again. ‘A… a lock of your hair, my lady. Nothing more.’ He looked down at the dagger still in his hand, and realised that his
    haste to get his prize and escape had made him foolish. He should not have drawn the blade.
    Lucia walked slowly towards him, the ravens shuffling aside to let her pass. Purloch stared at her in naked fear, this monster of a child. What was she?
    And yet what he saw in her pale blue gaze was anything but monstrous. She knew he was not a killer. She did not think him evil; she felt sympathy for him, not hate. And beneath it all was a kind of sadness, an acceptance of something inevitable that he did not understand.
    Gently, she took the dagger from his hand, and with it cut away a curl of her blonde, tumbling hair. She pressed it into his palm.
    ‘Go back to your masters,’ she said quietly, the ravens stirring at her shoulder. ‘Begin what must be begun.’
    Purloch drew a shuddering breath and bowed his head, still kneeling. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered, humbled. And then he was gone, disappearing into the trees, with Lucia watching after and wondering what would come of what she had done.
    Four
    It was four days after the murder of her family that Kaiku was found. The one who discovered her was a young acolyte of the . earth goddess Enyu, returning to the temple from a frustrating day of failed meditation. His name was Tane tu Jeribos.
    He had almost missed her as he passed by, buried as she was under a drift of leaves at the base of a thick-boled kiji tree. His mind was on other things. That, he supposed, was the whole problem. The priests had taught him the theory behind attuning himself to nature, letting himself become blank and empty so he could hear the slow heart of the forest; yes, he understood the theory well. It was just that putting it into practice was proving next to impossible.
    You cannot feel the presence of Enyu and her daughters until you are calm inside . It was the infuriating mantra that Master Olec droned at him every time he became agitated. But how calm could he be? He had relaxed to the best of his ability, evacuated his mind of all the clutter, but it was never enough. Doubly frustrating, for he excelled at his other studies, and his other masters were pleased with his progress. This lesson seemed to elude him, and he could not understand why.
    He was turning over sullen thoughts in his mind when he saw the shape buried beneath the leaves. The sight made him jump; his first reaction was to reach for the rifle slung across his back. Then he saw what it was: a young woman, lying still. Cautiously he approached. Though he saw no threat from her, he had lived his whole life in the forests of Saramyr, and he knew enough to assume everything was dangerous until proven otherwise. Spirits took many forms, and not all of them were friendly. In fact, it seemed
    they were getting more and more hostile as the seasons glided by, and the animals grew wilder by the